


Dry Ink

by cherikfan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2018-10-26 03:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 18,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10778775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherikfan/pseuds/cherikfan
Summary: Rhaegar Targaryen and Jon Connington's relationship over the years. Follows canon. Elia Martell and Lyanna Stark will appear too, as well as some more Targaryens, Martells and Starks. Perhaps a Baratheon or two, as well, just for good measure. Might turn into a longer fic. We shall see. I don't own any of the characters or story and I am not making any money off of this. It's just for fun. Enjoy! :)





	1. Jealousy

"Do you talk to her?" Jon asked Rhaegar as the other was tracing circles across his chest. Jon had always loved the prince's fingers. They were long and beautiful, and they played Jon's body as they did the lyre.  
"Of course I talk to her."  
That woke Jon from the pleasant drowsiness of feeling Rhaegar's hands on him and thinking about nothing else.  
"What do you talk to her about?"  
"Everything. Anything. The affairs of state. My childhood in the Red Keep. The books we've both read. I listen to her stories about growing up at Sunspear."  
"The censored version of it, surely," Jon said.  
"Oh, hush. Anyway, that's her brother. Not Elia."  
It was true enough that Oberyn Martell, Princess Elia's younger brother, was everything Dornishmen were infamous for being. Notoriously, he took women _and_ men into his bed. Everyone had heard the rumor. Jon could vouch for it, as he had been one of those men. It had been the wedding night of Elia and Rhaegar.  
"I sing to her, sometimes," Rhaegar said, breaking his lover out of his thoughts. Jon had nothing to say to that, but his pain at hearing those words must have been obvious, because Rhaegar frowned.  
"It's the singing you're jealous of, truly?"  
"No. Yes. It's that you are hers," Jon admitted.  
"I am not hers, just as she isn't mine. We are people, therefore aren't anyone's. No person is."  
_But I am,_ Jon thought. _I'm yours, and always will be. Until my dying day, I am yours._  
"So you don't believe everyone has that one great love they belong to?"  
Rhaegar looked like he was considering that. "I used to think so. Then I came to realize how people in marriages treat each other. So now, I'm not as certain. At times, I do still think so."  
"At times?" Jon asked.  
As if in answer, Rhaegar kissed him. "When I am with you."  
Jon kissed him back. What Rhaegar said, it wasn't much. A sweet nothing only. But it was enough.


	2. Essos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Connington and Aegon have a conversation.

"You never talk about her."  
Jon looked at the boy. Aegon was a young lad who had a cheerful disposition. Yes, there was some Targaryen, and Dornish, fire in his temper. That was only to be expected. Now, his mood seemed uncharacteristically dark.  
"What?" Jon asked.  
"My mother. Tell me something about her," the silver-haired boy said. _Aegon. Young Griff. The rightful King._ Really, they've both had to be so many people over the years, they wore those names as other men wore clothes. Jon himself had to be Hand of the King when thinking about their next move, but needed to wear the persona of Griff the sellsword to keep them all safe. He was better suited for being a lord, as he was meant to be. It wasn't the vulgarity of common sellswords that bothered him. It was the lack of respect; the lack of authority. _No one pays heed to the word of an outcast._ Well, they wouldn't be outcasts for long.  
"So?" Aegon said. "All these years, you've never really spoken of her. I'm sure you have your reason, but I don't care. She was my mother. She gave me life, she must have swaddled me, and loved me, surely. And I don't know a thing about her."  
_Elia._ What could he say? Memory took him back across the years.  
Jon had been little older than Aegon was now, but he had felt himself to be a man grown. Yet, he had retained a boyish wildness, which often drove him to seek anything to burn away that youthful energy. He went riding almost daily. He hadn't been the Hand yet. He was merely a courtier and could do as he pleased. As long as he stayed out of Aerys' way. Rhaegar's poor father had already began showing signs of the madness which would claim him in the end. The King, however, had nothing against courtiers riding out, so Jon was at the stables, as was his wont. He was saddling his horse, when a voice had disturbed the quiet.  
"My lord. That is a nice little horse you have there," Princess Elia had said.


	3. A Restless Dornish Princess in the Red Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon recalling a fond memory of someone. He is surprised to find that he feels this way about this particular member of the royal family.

"He isn't little," Jon said defensively.  
Elia had only smiled. "I meant no offense. All the horses you Northerners have seem little to us Dornishmen."  
"I am not a Northener, my lady."  
"You would count as such, where I'm from."  
On most occasions, Jon would have taken offense at that. But there was something in the way Elia had said it. She wasn't insulting him. From her lips, the words were teasing. Teasing, in the way one teases a fellow soldier, or a brother. Jon knew something or that comradery from having spent time among other squires and knights. He hadn't known women to talk like that. Then again, he didn't have a sister. He didn't have a brother, either. Elia had two. No wonder she talked to men the way other women talked only among themselves. It was fascinating, if a bit jarring.  
"Are you going for a ride? Would you mind terribly if I joined you?" Elia had asked.  
That was more surprising than anything. His reaction must have been visible, because she smiled again. This time, she did it bitterly.  
"I am frail of health, but I'm not a cripple, Jon."   
He hadn't heard his name pronounced with a Dornish lilt before. Oberyn had only called him _Lord Connington_. And _redhead_ , once. He also called him _Rhaegar's boy_. Jon gave him the coldest glare he could muster, but the Red Viper had only laughed.  
"I mean to go riding and that is what I am going to do. Either in your company, or alone. Though, I confess, I'd prefer not to be alone. It seems I am always alone, these days," said Elia. She did look like she was prepared to ride. That day, she didn't wear a silk Dornish dress and had opted for dark green riding clothes instead. It was the first time Jon had seen her wearing trousers. Later, he would listen to Rhaegar tell him how impressive he found Lyanna Stark for riding so much. Jon could only marvel at this statement, as this was years after he and Elia had made a habit of riding together on more days than not. _Had the prince truly not known his wife was a true Dornishman?_ Albeit differently, Elia was as Dornish as her younger brother. She loved to be free as much as the Red Viper did, except that she had fewer chances for being so. Riding was one of those few opportunities. Rhaegar might have associated riding and the search for freedom with Lyanna, but Jon would always think of Elia when he saw someone smile and race the wind on the back of a horse. That first day, after Elia told him she was going out riding with or without him, they didn't say anything more. Elia saddled her horse and the two of them were off, riding, trying to find a sense of freedom in a place so stifling.


	4. Fortnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from Rhaegar's POV. His musings on Jon Connington and Elia and life at the Red Keep.  
> Thank you guys for reading and for the kudos! : )  
> I know this is my first work, so I thought not a single person would see it.  
> Comments would be appreciated!

He knew Jon Connington was attracted to him the moment they met. It was no surprise to the prince. That sounds like vanity, but it isn't. Not when the majority of people he meets wanted to take him to bed. It's not as though men hadn't looked at him that way before. Besides, he knew about his parents' Uncle Daeron. _Mother was fond of him, though she was very young when he died._ The prince hadn't considered whether he could be the same. Then again, he had little reason to. All the men who looked at him that way had been older than his parents. Which wasn't old at all, but there is something unappealing about a person who lived through more years than one's own parents. _Jon is even younger than I am,_ Rhaegar thought. The prince was seventeen. Intellectually, he knew that was a young age. It didn't feel that way. _Perhaps it's because when_ _mother was seventeen, I was already four years old._ His father had been eighteen then. He was only fourteen when their father made him marry Princess Rhaella, his sister. _Mother was even_ _younger. When she was wed to her older brother, she was but thirteen._ The young princess gave birth to her son before her fourteenth nameday. So seventeen wasn't young in the prince's eyes. Jon wasn't sixteen yet, but he seemed grown up enough. _Enough to..._ there wasn't much reason to think on that. _I have my bride now. Elia. Kind and clever Elia._ The Dornish princess who would soon be his wife. She was the reason he was at Griffin's Roost. The prince had traveled to Dorne, to finalize his betrothal to the daughter of the ruling Princess of Dorne. That daughter was Elia. She was a sweet tempered, delicate and sickly young woman. People referred to her as "girl" but that was funny to Rhaegar. _She is almost of an age with mother._ Almost. The princess was quite a few years younger than the queen. Woman suited her better than girl also because of her dignity, her elegance. She carried herself with a calm assuredness which was not girlish. She also had the wisdom of age in her eyes and in her eloquent words, though she hadn't known much more than two dozen years. _I could endure her._ He could do more than that. Truth be told, he hadn't enjoyed anyone's company recently as well as Elia's. He was pleased to discover her charming sense of humor. _I am so melancholy most days. Her_ _endearing wit should ease me of that sometimes._ At least it couldn't hurt. From the limited time he had spent with her, Elia seemed patient as well. _That should make her easy to live with._ He was glad of the notion. _I don't wish to be married only as a formality. If I'm to take a wife, she_ _should be someone I don't terribly mind sharing my life with._ His father didn't see it that way. The King told his heir to go to Dorne to confirm the princess wasn't hideous and to ask her maesters in person whether they're confident she can bear children. They all told the prince that, despite her fragile health, the princess was perfectly able to give the realm the future heirs. So the match was made official. Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia would marry before the year was done. He couldn't say he was excited by the prospect. Yet, since meeting her, the idea of his upcoming nuptials didn't bother him as much as he had expected it to. _Maybe I shouldn't expect_ _everything to end in disaster. That's all on me. I've had no reason to dread marriage._ No reason except for his parents' marriage. The king and queen, though brother and sister and born only a year apart, loathed each other. Neither wanted to marry the other. It was their father who insisted. He supposed it was a mercy that he preferred Elia to all other high born ladies he could have been made to marry. _If I must marry, it's lucky that it is someone like her whom I need to_ _learn to love._ Yet, when he was lying in bed wide awake that night, he didn't recall the delicate beauty of his bride. No, that wasn't what set his bones aflame. The hungry way Jon Connington had looked at him was what did it. _He looked at me as though he wanted to devour me whole._ _Kissing him would probably be much like dueling him with a sword._ Such thoughts inflamed him, all the more so because he knew Jon was having the selfsame thoughts about him. Really, there was no point in feigning surprise or ignorance when Jon came to his chambers on the last night of his stay. Rhaegar would have lied if he said he didn't expect it. He would have been disappointed, actually. The tension between them had to be building up to something. Rhaegar would have also lied if he said he didn't hope this was that something. He could have told Jon, but he didn't risk it, on account of fearing he was wrong. As a prince, asking people if they wanted something was a tricky business. _People tend to agree to whatever the request is, even_ _if they would rather not._ He couldn't risk that with something as intimate as taking someone to bed. When the door opened and Jon approached, he got what he wanted, without having to wonder if he was forcing the other boy into it. He was more grateful for that than Jon would ever understand. 

"Your Grace. I don't mean to intrude," Connington said.

"You're not intruding. And, I have told you already, call me Rhaegar."

"Rhaegar," Jon echoed.

"Why are you here?" the prince asked.

"You know why," Jon replied stubbornly.

He still seemed to be waiting for confirmation on whether the prince wanted this. _He isn't saying why he is here in the hope of being able to deny_ _it if I refuse._ As if there could possibly be another reason.

"Come here," the prince said.

Jon Connington practically pounced at him.

He had been right; kissing Jon was much like sparring with him. It was very different from kissing Elia. She had also kissed him, but it hadn't been this rough. He never thought it would be rough treatment which would make his blood run hot, but it was. His veins were on fire. Jon was kissing him the way a starving man eats his food. Rhaegar could feel him trying to keep his hands from unlacing his trousers. _He thinks I don't want this._ To stop Jon from doubting, he put the boy's hand between his legs. Jon gasped into his mouth and cupped the prince's member. Then Jon _did_ finally unlace him and sank to his knees. Elia had definitely not done that. It never even occurred to Rhaegar that someone would. Not even when Elia came to his bed that night in Dorne. He only considered taking her as a man takes a woman. Although, once they were done, he did think about pleasuring her with his mouth. He hadn't even considered her doing the same for him. Now Jon took him in his mouth and it was divine. He moaned so loudly he thought the guards in the halls must surely have thought he was being murdered right then and there. Jon didn't pull away as he found his end, so he finished in the other boy's mouth. That was also better than he could have imagined. Better for not having been expected. He felt a vague sense of contentment which hadn't come after his time with Elia. It made him want to do this again. Not only the act itself. The prince felt a desire for this boy he hadn't known he was capable of feeling. He wanted Jon Connington. In his bed, in his confidence and by his side. Jon clearly did not know all that. He stood up, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and made to leave. Rhaegar didn't ask him to stay with words. He had loved words, but this time they felt inadequate. So he asked him to stay without words. With touch. He grabbed Jon's wrist. Rhaegar considered pulling him back to bed right away. Instead, he pushed Jon up against the door. The boy looked eager but thoroughly confused. Until the prince sank to his knees. Jon was very still as Rhaegar unlaced him. It was a valiant effort, especially in someone with a stormlander's temper. The young griffin lord still didn't move when the prince took him in his mouth. It was Rhaegar who started moving the other boy's hips. Once a rhythm was found, he pulled Jon closer and then pushed him back. This became the beat then. Jon was quickly undone. Then, limp and languid, he didn't protest as Rhaegar pulled him to bed. They fell asleep in each other's arms. In the morning, Rhaegar was woken by Jon exploring his skin with soft fingertips. When the other boy saw his prince's reaction, he took him in his mouth again. Only for a little while, that time. Rhaegar wondered if Jon meant to tease him and leave him in this state to finish alone, when he worked himself open. It was a mesmerizing sight. Rhaegar couldn't look away. He didn't want to. When the boy was done, he pushed Rhaegar onto his back and, almost in a single fluid motion, sank down onto his cock. Rhaegar moaned then. It was gloriously tight. Quite different from Elia. It felt good, but once Jon started moving, all the rest of the world was gone. Just then, it was better than good. For once, he didn't have a care in the world. It was a little like playing his harp. The main difference was that he's sure he's adequate when playing the harp. Since this was merely the second time he's done this, he was certain he couldn't have been all that great. Elia had no complaints, but that hardly proved anything, except maybe her kindness or tact. Or both. Well, at least Jon wasn't pretending because he expected a marriage out of it. Though there were many things a lord could want from the crown prince. Rhaegar hoped it was just this Jon had wanted; their breaths quick, their bodies intertwined. This he could give. Nothing he had was ever truly his. It was always the crown's, the dynasty's, or the realm's. But not this. His body was still his, except for when he would have to do his duty in fathering the heir. A pleasant enough duty, given it was Elia he had to beget his children on. He could do what he had to. Unlike most things, it wouldn't even make him miserable. He wondered how long he could have what he just found with Jon. It was so rare to stumble across joy. It would be a shame to waste the chance. The next time he pulled Jon into bed, it was the prince who sank down on the lord's son's throbbing manhood. Jon looked like a man who died to find all the seven gods greeting him as old friends and promising him eternal happiness. That alone would have been enough, the knowledge that he was capable of giving someone pleasure like that. That he wasn't his father whose touch made everything burn to ash or turn ugly and dead. While that satisfaction would have done it for him, it wasn't all he got. Feeling the other boy inside him was as good as being inside. He wondered why some men claimed this was against the gods' will. _Why would something that can bring true enjoyment and nothing bad_ _be hated by the gods?_ It made no sense that the divine powers would be against people taking pleasure in each other, no matter who the two were. As long as both were willing. Jon was more than willing. When it was time for the prince to go home, he asked Jon to accompany him. King's Landing was different with someone there he did not despise. Yes, his mother was also there with him, but, though he loved her with all his heart, the queen's presence did not bring him joy. She was another reminder of how horrible his father was. There were days when she would talk and laugh with her son. Those days, he was glad to have her by his side. There were other days. The prince could always tell when the king had hurt her. It was hard to look at her then, to see her bruised and empty-eyed. It was hard not to drive a sword through his father on those days. Arthur and the other knights were the only thing stopping him. They would kill him. His mother would be glad to be rid of her husband, but she'd mourn her child. Rhaegar could imagine her driving a dagger through her own heart, for love of him. He would not do that to her. Besides, the king didn't chose to be mad. It wasn't as though he had always been a monster. He was still his father. No, he never doted on his son, but a father was still a father all the same. Oftentimes, it was hard to reconcile those two things; _he is a monster and he is my father_. As the next few years passed by, he paid little mind to his father. Elia was there, and soon Rhaenys too, the light of his life. Elia was a better friend than he ever thought possible. People would say Arthur was his best friend. Jon, undoubtedly, would name himself. Yes, Arthur was a friend. His closest friend, his most trusted companion, was Elia. Jon wasn't his friend. What he felt for him was beyond that, existing in another plane of emotion altogether. He was his love. He adored Elia but never yearned to take her right where she stood. He was never dying to posses her. That depth of feeling, was reserved for Jon alone.


	5. Bridegroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the morning of Elia and Rhaegar's wedding day. Implied smut and a little fluff, with a pinch of sad.  
> P.S, I'm so glad so many people read the chapters. I literally thought not a single person would,  
> but there are like 200 of you guys!

“You're going to have to let me go.”  
It was morning already. The night ended too soon. It usually did, with Jon in his bed. The prince made a move to get out of bed, but the redhead lord he loved only held him tighter.  
“Never.” Jon practically growled the word. He didn't take too kindly to the idea of the prince’s upcoming nuptials.  
“You joke. You know perfectly well I don't mean _let go_ as in ending things. What I mean is, I have to get ready for my wedding. You _know_ this.”  
Jon's only response was kissing his shoulder.  
“Bugger that. Your wedding is not for hours and hours still. We've all the time in the world. Besides, sorry to disappoint, but you're not the one getting flowers in your hair. _She_ is.”  
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. “I still have to look presentable. There'll be quite the crowd, I hear."  
Jon gave him a flat look. “Aye, a crowd will come to see the crown prince wed a Dornish princess. And nobody will glance your way. They love you, but they also know you. She is the one all eyes will be watching. They don't know what she is like. Curiosity is more powerful than admiration.”  
The prince feigned hurt. “Nobody will glance my way, you say? Not even you, my lord?”  
He meant it playfully, but Jon got a serious look in his eyes all of a sudden.  
“No, I won't. I will observe my competition.”  
Rhaegar sighed. “Scrutinize her, if you must. She is beautiful and clever. Beyond reproach, truly.”  
Jon’s mouth tightened. “So you've said. Just remember, she won't do the things for you that I did a few minutes past.”  
The prince winced. Jon let go of his arm. Rhaegar got out of bed to prepare for the wedding.  
“Don't be crass. It's beneath you.”  
Jon shrugged. “Doesn't mean I'm wrong.”  
Then he got out of bed too.  
“So I assume we won't be doing this for a while. With you being a newlywed, I imagine your wife will be the one sharing your bed.”  
Jon tried to fake seeing humor in it, but he failed miserably. Besides, Rhaegar knew him better than to be fooled so easily.  
“I suppose you’re right. But don’t despair. Things will be just as they ever were quickly enough.”  
They both knew it to be a lie, but it was a lie they needed. The prince heard Jon take a breath that sounded painful.  
“If you’ll love her, tell me.” Each word caused him pain. Rhaegar heard it in the strain of his voice.  
“I _will_ love her. She will be the mother of my children. Surely I must love her." He grabbed Jon’s chin with one hand and put the other on his chest. He kissed him. “And I’ll love you too.”  
“Promise,” Jon said. He inhaled sharply. “Promise you’ll love me still.”  
Rhaegar kissed him again. “I shall love you always.”  
With that, getting dressed for the wedding was put off a little while longer. It did not matter that he would have to bed his bride at night’s end. All that mattered was them, wrapped in warm sheets, tangled together. As if they never wanted to stop. As if they might never again have the chance to be together in this way.


	6. The Morning After the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This is the morning after Elia and Rhaegar's wedding.  
> Rhaegar POV. Soon the time around the wedding will be  
> uploaded from the perspectives of other POVs as well.  
> Thanks for reading!

He hated mornings. He hated waking up. Sometimes it was hard to muster enough of his will to get out of bed. It used to be easier. When he was a child, even if he was in one of his moods, his mother, a septa, or a maester would force him out of bed. Unfortunately, no one forced the adult crown prince to do much. Certainly, a great deal was expected of him, but obligations were never forced on him. Unless it was his father the king who wanted something from him. In that case, the expectation was not a request. So he wasn’t ordered about much, which meant he had to make himself, every morning, one day at a time, face another day. Today was different, though. The sun was up, and a sun princess was sleeping next to him with her head on his shoulder. She was practically sleeping _on_ him. _My wife._ His lips were brushing against her lustrous hair and his hand was on her bare back. Her hair was very soft, and she smelled like the flowers from the night before. Her skin was cold, however. When she rolled away a few moments later, still asleep, he got out of bed to fetch her another blanket. As he opened the closet, he heard his new wife yawn.  
“Do you have to start your day already?” Elia asked.  
It was not an accusation, merely curiosity.  
“No, my lady. I only went to bring you another blanket. I was afraid you were cold.”  
She smiled. “That is kind of you. I am a little cold, as it happens. It is much warmer in Dorne.”  
He heard the ache in her voice for the home she gave up to be with him. It was there, clear as sunlight. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, for she had been sitting by the time he got to her.  
“We should dress soon. For breakfast. My father and mother are expecting us,” he said.  
She laid back down on her pillow. “Must we? I’d rather have you all to myself. Just for today.”  
He smiled at her. _She really is radiant as the sun._ “As you wish.”  
He moved back to his place in bed. Elia was lying on her stomach then. She was still naked, so her back was completely exposed. The blanket barely covered her arse and Rhaegar suspected she wanted it that way. Her hair was a wavy sea of black diamonds. She looked divine. Her dark skin was beautiful in the morning sunlight and he recalled how soft it had been to the touch. He was trailing kisses down her spine before he knew he would be doing so. Her response was a tiny sigh which sounded beautiful. He didn’t think he should initiate anything more than kisses at that moment, so he planted a lingering kiss on her naked shoulder and got out of bed again.  
“I’ll have them bring us something to break our fast.”  
He went to an adjacent room and asked a serving girl there to have someone to bring him and the princess their meals to their bedroom. Well, it was _his_ bedroom. It had always been, since he was a small child. They had given Elia rooms in the palace that matched her station as wife of the crown prince and as a princess of Dorne. Traditionally, the couple would spend their wedding night in the room they would share later (usually the bride’s room), but he wanted her in his own bed for their first time as a married future king and queen. In the future, he would be the one to go to her rooms, as kings usually went to their queens’ rooms. He wondered if Dorne had the same custom. _Probably not._ He decided they should think about where their shared home would be. _It could be here, in the Red Keep, if Elia wishes to better acquaint herself with the castle she will one day be queen of. Or it could be that she wishes to set up her own household and practice how to run such a place before she has to run the King’s castle._ He should probably tell her that she does not need to involve herself, in any of it, if she doesn’t desire to. _Of course, it is frowned upon if a queen doesn’t play her part, but that might be less trouble than someone trying to plan feasts and such when she hates doing so._  
“How are you finding King’s Landing?”  
He wanted to see if she loved or hated the capital. He truly had no idea how _she_ felt, but those were the only two reactions people had to this monster of a city. She hadn't said anything about the city since her arrival. Elia was sweet and kind, but also somewhat guarded. _Though who wouldn’t be, coming here?_  
“It’s beautiful.”  
There was something overly tentative in the way she said it. He hadn’t known her long, but Rhaegar knew she wasn’t timid. _And a good thing, too. I’d dislike being married to someone timid._  
“It’s just… well… does it always stink so horribly?”  
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Would you visit to see Dragonstone, my lady?”  
Elia seemed pleased by the idea. Rhaegar was under the impression he would be moving to his ancestral seat at long last.


	7. A Princess Fit For a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This an Elia POV chapter. It's about her engagement to Rhaegar.  
> The scene at the end will have a follow-up chapter VERY soon.  
> After that, we're jumping around in time again.  
> That chapter will be a Jon Con and Rhaegar one.  
> As always, thanks for reading : )

“This is a terrible idea,” said Oberyn.

“I don't recall asking for your opinion,” their mother replied.

With that, Elia’s mother and little brother stormed out. The ruling Princess of Dorne had never wanted her younger son’s opinions. She sometimes wanted Elia’s. As a person who would soon be married to someone important, she'd need to be savvy. That's what Elia always heard from her mother. _Being married to someone with power can grant you power. Mother drilled that lesson into me like a prayer._ Elia thought it would have been more convincing had her mother's consorts ever held any sway in Dorne. Then again, her future husband wasn't likely to be as willful as a ruler of Dorne. _Perhaps if he were a stormlander._ Still, the prospect of being married to a lord hadn't scared her. Not even when she thought she might become Lady Lannister. _But that changed. It might be a prince I’ll marry now._ Until the letters started arriving, Elia would have never guessed she had a chance of being the future queen. But her mother and King Aerys kept up correspondence until, one day, the Princess of Dorne announced that the crown prince was coming. Rhaegar Targaryen would be coming to Dorne. It seemed that all of Sunspear was excited. Elia was not. _He is coming to count your teeth and finalize the betrothal._ That's what her mother said to Elia about the matter. Then she said a great deal more. Things about politics, seduction and marriage. Things about King’s Landing. And about the king and queen. It was fortunate that Elia’s mother knew Queen Rhaella so well. Elia would have lied if she had said there was no part of her which was flattered to be considered at all. The Dornish part of her said it was only natural that she'd be a king’s choice for his son. _Who should marry a prince but a princess?_ And lucky for her, she was the only princess in the realm who would make a suitable bride. The only other person who was a princess was her mother, but she was married and too old to bear children, and the ruler of Dorne besides. Her mother would never have married the heir to the throne, due to being the heir to Dorne herself. Elia was not the heir to anything, but she had been next in line after Doran, before Arianne was born. _I won't see her grow up._ _I'll rarely make it back home and I'll probably miss every nameday, every scraped knee, and every heartbreak._ The thought was a jolt of pain through her. There had been a part of her which, naively perhaps, believed she would end up marrying a Dornishman and staying with her family. Elia’s heart had hoped for that. _If I took a Dornishman for my husband, we could live right here in Sunspear. Or the Water Gardens._ Alas, that was not what her fate would be. Elia had always loved the Water Gardens.

*** 

“Is it true?” A lovely voice asked, in a tone of conspiration.

“Well, there is not an official betrothal yet,” said Elia.

Ashara Dayne beamed at Elia as if she’d said the wedding had already taken place.

“But he's coming here?” Ashara pressed.

“Yes,” Elia admitted.

In that moment, Ashara had seemed so young to the princess. _She's not a woman, but no longer a child either. Yet, she believes in courtly love._ The girl seemed to think that the prince would fall in love with Elia the moment he laid eyes on her. _That is absurd. I'm not as beautiful as all that._ Not that Elia considered _that_  sort of infatuation to be love. _If one claims to have fallen in love at first sight, the most the feeling might be is lust._ Sometimes she forgot that even Arthur was young and Ashara was younger still. Elia had quite a few years on them, though not too many winters, gods be blessed. People her age made her feel old sometimes. Truly, it was a wonder the Dayne siblings were so dear to her, with both being younger than she was. _They're even younger than Oberyn._ He seemed young to her at times too, though often he was wise beyond his years. _Clever but so, so reckless._ Elia worried it was going to get him killed one day.

 ***

The days before Rhaegar arrived, all her mother did was yell at her. It couldn't have been the case, but it certainly felt that way to Elia. She tried to ignore it. Instead of listening to her mother fuss with the preparations, she was sitting on the floor of her bedroom with Oberyn beside her. The floor was always comfortably cool on hotter days.

“I hear he is beautiful,” Oberyn said scornfully.

“Oh, please don't bed him. Mother would never forgive you and she'd work her frustration out on me. You know she'd find a way to blame me for it,” Elia said. “If you feel you want a man, get one. But not the one that's mine.”

“Yours. Do you think he'll be? I doubt it. He's a prince and a pretty face. Men and women are surely throwing themselves at his feet wherever he goes,” said Oberyn. “Surely he takes many lovers.”

Elia’s response was to throw a peach at him.

“There are no rumors of him taking any lovers. Stop trying to poison me against this marriage. It's not going to work. I've asked around, too. Apparently, he is a kind man. A gracious future king,” Elia said.

“I've heard it said he is brooding. So much so that he doesn't speak to anyone for days. Ignores his princely duties and stalks the ruins of Summerhall,” her brother said.

Elia frowned. “Just because he has bad days he isn't going to be a good husband? I have bad days, Oberyn. Certain times, I can't walk far and my body aches as if I were an old farmer who spent her entire life working the fields and her back knows it. Am I unfit to be a wife, then?”

Oberyn’s eyes weren't gentle like they usually were when he was looking at her. “Perhaps you _are_ unfit. It might be a good thing for you to stay here.”

Elia raised her eyebrows. “And never marry?”

Oberyn nodded. “And never marry.”

Elia couldn't help but smile. “I'm going to miss you too.”

 ***

When Rhaegar did arrive, what stroke Elia was that he was very pink already, from the Dornish sun. _A dragon burnt by the sun._ It gave her comfort to think that her homeland itself was defending them from these invaders. _It saved us from Rhaenys then. Surely it'll be adequate protection now that they're dragonless._ That was a comfort as well. _The dragons are dead and so Targaryens are nothing but flesh and blood like the rest of us._ The time of dragonlords was long gone. The Targaryen walking up to her, with his entourage flanking him on all sides, was just a man. _A pretty one, to be sure, but a man._ If Elia was honest, he was gorgeous. There was a certain depth of emotion in his purple eyes that was easy to spot even at a distance.


	8. Meeting of a Dragon and the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elia and Rhaegar meet for the first time.

“Your Grace,” Elia said as she curtsied. “Welcome to Sunspear.”

It _was_ a little nerve-wrecking, meeting the prince she was meant to convince to agree to make her his future queen. She was glad to have Oberyn standing by her side.

“We are honored to have you as our guest, Your Grace,” Elia’s mother added.

She did not bow. _A ruler of Dorne never would. I would lie if I said that displeases me._

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home, Princess.”

His manners were, of course, impeccable. _He isn’t even as gloomy as Oberyn said._ _If anything, there was mirth in his greeting._ Not mockery, but sheer pleasure at having traveled somewhere new. _I would love to travel more, if only my health would allow._

“This is my daughter, Princess Elia. And my youngest son, Prince Oberyn.”

“A pleasure to meet you both, Your Graces. I regret we haven’t had the chance to make each other’s acquaintance before.”

“Yes, that is unfortunate, but it’s in the past. All that matters is you’re here now, Your Grace. I’m certain my children will provide you with companionship during your stay. Would you like my daughter to escort you around the palace, my prince?” her mother said.

 _He barely got off his horse and she’s playing the matchmaker._ It was going to be a long visit, then. _Does she truly think I can make him fall in love with me before he leaves?_   

Rhaegar really looked at Elia for the first time. “I should like that very much. If the princess wishes to be my guide.”

Elia did not need to look to her mother to know what she expected her to say. “It would be not only an honor but a pleasure, Your Grace.”

She said the words as pleasantly as she was able, with a sweet and joyous smile. The prince offered her his arm and she took it. A couple of his guards followed them, but besides that, they were alone.

“I think the first thing someone should see at Sunspear is the inner garden. The one with the statues,” Elia said.

“Sounds marvelous,” said Rhaegar. “Lead the way, princess, if you would.”   

It was the place they had decided she’d take him first, if she was ever showing him around their palace. For one, it was a genuinely beautiful statue garden. For another, it was rich with Dornish history. _Let the Targaryen see theirs is not the only royal linage with a tale behind their conquering of a land._ That was Oberyn’s idea, but Elia approved of the message it sent. Rhaegar went up to a statue of someone curled up, trying to shield herself from the oncoming storm of fire. It depicted the Doom of Valyria. Rhaegar read the inscription. It was in High Valyrian. The words rolled off his tongue, making songs out of syllables. Then he repeated it in the Common Tongue.

“Alas, alas, that great city Valyria, that mighty city! For in one hour is thy judgement come.”

“Pleasant words. Though, I must admit, I've always found them to be terribly theatric,” Elia said.

“You know High Valyrian?” Rhaegar asked her. He sounded pleased.

“No, not really. But I have been learning some phrases from the maesters. It is an intricate language, is it not? I can picture the ancient sorcerers chanting the rougher of the words to unleash a draconic, fiery, desolation,” said Elia.

“How terrible and grand that must have been.”

“Yes, terrible, but also rather magnificent,” she said.

“I wholeheartedly agree, princess.”

“Princess. So formal. Considering the reason for this visit, does Your Grace not think it would be more prudent to call each other by our names?” said the princess.

“As you wish, princess. Elia. That's a pretty name. Melodic, in fact.”

“Thank you, Rhaegar. I appreciate the compliment. It's not a very unique name here in Dorne, but I imagine they don't give Dornish names to babes up North,” Elia said.

“Up North. It's amusing to think you Dornishmen consider us in the Crownlands Northerners.”

“I meant no offense by it,” Elia said casually.

“I didn't take offense. The Northerners might, if they heard you. They are very serious folk,” Rhaegar said.

“You also strike me as someone serious,” she replied.

“Am I glum? I apologize. I'm taking care not to be. If I am, do not think it is because of you. I don't want to be sullen. Sometimes it gets the better of me.”

Elia chuckled. “No. But I can see a potential for it, lurking about in the shadows near you,” Elia said in a light, teasing tone.

“The shadows of Summmerhall, many would call it,” he said.

Elia frowned. “Are you one of them?”

“I'm… conflicted. Some days I can see why such tragedy would mark those involved forever. At other times, I simply can't see why the circumstances of one’s birth would sour him to most joys in life.”

“I think the ghosts of tragedy haunt the ones who remember. Not the ones who are blameless.”

Rhaegar smiled. “If only the innocent were free of their demons.”

“You were just born on that selfsame day. They're not your demons to carry,” Elia said in a gentle tone.

“There are reasons why I feel that I'm… a part of what happened that day.”

“And what are those reasons?” Elia asked, mystified.

“Perhaps I'll explain. One day,” he said.

“All right,” she answered.

It wasn't all right. However, Elia didn't want to force the issue.

“You think me mad. Considering my family, I don't blame you for it. Elia, it's not madness, I promise you. You'll know about all of it one day. If things go as planned.”

 _If his negotiations with my mother go through._ “This an odd first conversation, I must say.”

“Yes,” Rhaegar said. “It certainly is. The truth is, I do not speak of these things with strangers. Or with anyone. And you _are_ a stranger to me.”

“Maybe I won't always have to be a stranger,” Elia said.

“Which is precisely why we're having such an unusual first conversation. What I spoke of, these things about Summerhall, I'm only telling you because it's part of who I am. I believe it's only fair that you know.”

“Since I might become your wife,” said Elia.

“Yes. Because you might become my lady wife, my crown princess, and one day my queen, you deserve to know.”

They walked farther. Elia looked at him, this strange and beautiful prince who was to be her intended. _He is strange, to be sure._ She wondered if it was life in the capital or simply Targaryen blood that did it.

“Thank you for trusting me with this. If you truly don't ever talk of it with anyone, I'm honored,” Elia told him.

“Never. I write about it to a man at the Wall, but no one else besides him. He's a maester.”

“A maester at the Wall. Why?” Elia said.

Rhaegar smiled as if he was in on a joke and she was not. “Because the maester at the Wall isn't just anyone. He is Aemon Targaryen,” said Rhaegar.

“He is your family.”

“Yes. I rather enjoy the correspondence. There are so few people left who share my blood,” he said.

“That could change,” said Elia.

“Doubtful. As I'm sure you know, the queen, my mother, hadn't had much luck in birthing living children.”

“I know that. And my heart goes out to her, and to you, and to the king. But she isn't the one I thought of when I said you might eventually have others around you who share your blood,” Elia said.

Enticing a prince to marry you by telling him you'd give him children. It was a manipulative idea to dangle in front of someone upon whose shoulder an entire dynasty rested. It was what Elia’s mother told her to do.

“Oh. You meant that we'd have children, if the arrangements take hold. You know, even if we wouldn't ever have children, there would already be more Targaryen blood in King’s Landing, once you came. The Martells have Valyrian blood. _You_ have some Targaryen blood coursing through your veins. It's why my father has chosen you to be my wife,” said Rhaegar.

Elia suspected it was not the only reason.

“And because Dorne can't support you against him, were the two of you at odds,” Elia said. Since he had done her the courtesy of being honest, she could do the same. “And because having a Dornish bride won't make you more popular with the noblemen. Not the ones in the Reach, that's a certainty. Not with those who have marriageable daughters, either.”

“I believe you're quite right,” Rhaegar said with an apologetic smile. “And I am sorry for that.”

“What do _you_ have to be sorry for?”

“It mustn't feel great to know he chose you because he perceives you as someone who would be useless to me in challenging him. I _am_ sorry. For the record, I disagree. Dorne was the one place my family couldn't conquer.”

Elia stopped and turned to face him. “Let him underestimate Dorne. Others have done the same. Targaryen monarchs have done the same.”

Rhaegar gave her a fine smile. “Rhaenys.”

“Rhaenys,” Elia agreed.

Eventually, the name would become a secret shared between them. An insult to Aerys which could be spoken without fear. _Rhaenys_. To Elia and Rhaegar, it meant _you won't see our betrayal coming just as she hadn't seen what the desert heat is to all living things that do not belong there: death._ It was a promise that, if things got bad enough, they would put a stop to it. A declaration that Dorne could stand against a dragon. Towards the end, Elia wondered how they could have missed it. They might have named their firstborn for their defiance of the Iron Throne. The babe might have represented a stand against the king, but what they forgot was this: she wasn’t just a Martell. Not made of sun and sand and precious water, with its life-giving and ancient magic. Rhaenys was a name for a dragon, and, because of her father, a dragon she was. A Dornish child, yes, but also a dragon. And sometimes (only sometimes) dragons burned in hellish fires. 


	9. A Griffin in the Capital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I can't believe season 7 is almost done. I'll try to get at least one more chapter up before the finale.  
> In this one, Jon Connington arrives in King's Landing for the very first time.  
> Due to certain spoilers, I'll be depicting Elia's wedding soon.  
> There are also Lyanna chapters coming.  
> And of course, more Jon Connington chapters are coming too.  
> Happy season finale on Sunday, guys!

When they arrived in King’s Landing, the streets were lined with Rhaegar’s admirers. Jon basked in it. It felt good to know that the man who was so beloved by everyone took an interest in him. _He could have anyone, yet he brought me here to be beside him._ His friend, maybe even his confidant. His lover. Jon Connington had never taken a lover before. Yes, there have been dalliances, but always with men who were just passing through. He could not risk anything more permanent because his father had a way of finding out about anything inexcusable he ever did. _Not anymore._ He was a man grown now, a friend of a prince. A courtier who lived in the capital. The city was buzzing with life. It felt like the right place for someone with young blood in his veins and a great many things to prove. He would prove worthy of Rhaegar’s attention, Jon swore to himself. When they were within reach of the Red Keep, to his luster and eager ambition, it felt like finally arriving where he belonged. It seemed he was made of desiring things not his for the taking. Rhaegar. A role at court to make him acceptable company to the prince. And power. An arrogant and knightly mind often made men believe they were better suited for power than others.

Riding for hours on end was good for something, at least. Jon could stare at the gorgeous silver boy beside him all his heart desired. He barely glanced at the Kingsroad the entire way there. The closer they got to his home, the unhappier Rhaegar looked. Jon could not help but wonder.  
“You don't want to go home, do you?” asked Jon.  
“These red stones don't make for a particularly fond dwelling,” his prince explained.  
“Where is home, then?”  
Rhaegar gave him a melancholy smile.  
“Somewhere good. I don't know, somewhere… better than this,” Rhaegar said.  
“The Reach?” jested the young griffin boy.  
Rhaegar’s smile widened, albeit slightly. “I quite like the Stormlands, you know. Seas and storms and all.”  
“We Stormlanders don't have such beauty to call ours as the Tyrells, true. Still, there's a certain appeal in the viciousness of it all,” said Jon.  
“There's always Dorne. It was rather pretty there,” said Rhaegar.  
“Except you had to suffer the company of your future wife,” Jon said.  
Rhaegar frowned. “No. It wasn't like that. She's a charming woman.”  
“I suppose that bodes well for you,” said Jon bitterly.  
“Don't do that.”  
“Do what?” Jon asked.  
“You're jealous. That shall grow tedious for you, my friend,” Rhaegar said kindly.  
“Why is that?”  
Rhaegar sighed. “Elia will be my wife. She will always be my wife. Forever. You can't change that. _I_ can't change that. It will be all right. The realm needs heirs. I must marry someone. A lady the realm can accept as my queen.”  
“You're glad it's her you need to marry,” Jon said.  
“I am,” Rhaegar agreed. “The queen has to be someone who is fit to rule by her king’s side. Elia is such a person. She was raised a princess and she's even smarter than she lets on. Not that she hides it, mind you. It's simply that she's not boastful.”  
“Well, if you think she's so wonderful, will you try being faithful to her?” Jon asked, working hard to mask his anger at the prospect.  
“No. Forever is a long time. Why should I promise her something I don't know if I could keep? I didn't tell her I'd never be with anyone else. What would be the point? She'd resent me for being a liar. Even if I kept my promise, perhaps I'd feel shackled by it. So you see, it's no use to pretend at never straying.”  
“Is that what this is? Straying, until the next one comes along?” Jon asked, heart beating out of his chest.  
_Please don't let it be just a distraction for him._  
“What we have…” Rhaegar began, “makes me happy. Not a great many things do. I'd rather hold onto it than try and name it. I care about you a great deal. Does that satisfy you, my lord?”  
“Not nearly,” said Jon.  
Rhaegar smiled. Broadly, this time. “We shall have to see to that at home, then.”  
Home. _King’s Landing might not be his home, but it is where he resides. So it is my home._ Since he first touched the prince, he knew he'd follow Rhaegar anywhere. Jon wished his home to be wherever his prince was. The road to the Red Keep grew narrow. Once there, he could see that the pomp and beauty of the court was right outside the castle. The high doors were open and it seemed to Jon that each and every member of the court was present. _They don't want to offend their future king by not being here to welcome him home,_ Jon realized. It wasn't the only knowledge which struck him. _A court, a true court, is nothing but lies._ Still, the sight was magnificent. Each lord and lady, and even the servants, in their best clothes, standing there with smiles of stone on their faces, cheering for their prince. The murmurs were appropriately joyous. _No wonder it makes Rhaegar miserable._ Being liked by everyone meant a man had no true friends. What a lonely existence that was. The king and queen stood in the center of the foray, right before the huge doors. Both were clad in Targaryen black and red. Aerys and Rhaella both wore their crowns. It was no wonder, in front of such a crowd. _They have their parts to play._ Her crown was much smaller than his. When they made it up the lengthy stone staircase, Queen Rhaella rushed to embrace her son. King Aerys chuckled.  
“Let him go. He's a fragile thing, that one. You're like to break some of his bones,” he said.  
“He's strong now, brother,” said the queen. “Not the same little boy with his books who never even stepped outside. Our boy has become a warrior.”  
“It's good to see you both,” Rhaegar said, smiling at them. “Mother, father.”  
Jon knew his lover had a strained relationship with his father, but spending time away made it easier to pretend. _I know, because I'm the same with my lord father._  
“It is good to have you back,” Rhaella said.  
“Tell us about the Dornish girl. She's not too dark, is she? You might father ugly children on her, but that can't really be helped,” said the king.  
Jon was a little taken aback. It was true many people thought the same about the Dornish as Aerys apparently did, but it wasn't wise for the king of the Seven Kingdoms to insult one of those kingdoms so carelessly. _I suppose not many here heard his words, but…_ If anyone else in the crowd near them did hear their liege’s remarks, they showed no sign of it.  
“Father, I…” Rhaegar began, but Aerys waved an impatient hand.  
“We’ll talk about it later,” the King said.  
“You must be tired from your journey,” said Queen Rhaella, less joyous than she had been moments before. “Go to your rooms, darling. Get yourself cleaned and rest. I'll see you at supper.”  
“And don't forget about the celebration after,” Aerys said.  
“Celebration?” Rhaegar asked, sounding dumbstruck.  
A wry smile from the King. “Your mother insisted.”  
Rhaella touched her palm to her son’s cheek.  
“You've been gone a while, my sweet. I wanted to have music and dancing upon your return. To have people around me share the joy of getting you back. Is that a crime?” the queen said lightly.  
“He doesn't enjoy such things. Too frivolous compared to your very serious scrolls you spend half your time on?" Aerys said.  
_He's clearly mocking him. His heir, his son._ Jon did not like the implication behind a king belittling the one he was meant to groom for ruling the realm.  
“Fear not, I'll attend,” Rhaegar said warily to his mother.  
He kissed her cheeks and walked through the high doors of the Red Keep, leaving Jon behind. Jon tried not to give meaning to that. Soon enough, the rest of the procession followed. Entering didn't feel like Jon expected. The place had looked big enough to store a city. That is, it looked that way from afar. As he stepped inside, Jon couldn't help but find it suffocating. As though there wasn't a private corner in the entire structure of the royal place. _Perhaps Aegon had designed it in that way to prevent his courtiers hiding from him, or sneaking up on him and to allow his queens to spy on them. Or assassinate them._ Still, it _was_ the royal palace. Everything was beautiful and the best of its kind. Pride and happiness soon replaced any lingering trepidation he felt. He was in the heart of the city. The heart of the realm. _In Rhaegar's home._ His heart started beating faster at the thought. He would live with Rhaegar. They could be together whenever they wanted. Nothing would keep them apart. _I can be his forever._ As long as Rhaegar would have him.  
“Lord Connington?” a palace servant asked him.  
“Yes.”  
“Follow me, if it please you, my lord. My orders are to show you to your chamber.”  
His chamber was pleasant. It wasn't too far, nor was it too close to the buzzing halls where the royal family held court. The rooms were smaller than the ones Jon had in Griffin’s Roost, but that was only to be expected. In his father’s castle, in the castle which would be _his_ one day, he had been the heir. The most important person, second only to his father. Here he was just another young lordling who came to court because he wanted something. Except that he wasn't like the others. _The others don't share the prince’s bed._ There was glee in that thought. He was the only one who had Rhaegar. The one who had been sneaking off to bed with him. _True, he has friends at court. They have his affection, no doubt._ The prince wasn't ungenerous with a kind word and a smile, when his fluctuating mood allowed. But those friends didn't have his touches. Didn't have his clever mouth with its neat tricks. Didn't have his sighs and shudders. Not his beautiful moans either. Those all belong to Jon Connington. It made him feel like the most important man in the world.


	10. Life at the Court of the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues where the last one left off. I really wanted to spend more time on the early days of Jon's life as a courtier. Seeing him start his court politicking will hopefully make the moment when Aerys name him Hand of the King (I will write that in one of the chapters) more interesting. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! : ) 
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated!

Rhaegar did not come to him that night. It was not the end of the world. The celebration had been magnificent. The king and queen and their son danced with the rest of the court. The three kept near each other for a while, looking like some silver ethereal creatures. His parents were older than Rhaegar, but he didn't have a young soul, so oftentimes he could pass for older than he truly was. His parents could pass for younger than they were. The result of which was that the three looked far more like siblings than anything else. It was a little unnerving, but they were beautiful, so it wasn't too disconcerting. Everything at court was beautiful. It was too large a crowd for Rhaegar to pick up his harp. Jon didn't mind. He loved listening to his silver prince play songs of tragedy and smoke, but Rhaegar was having a good night. No music was needed to ease his soul. There was music of course, the loud and slightly bawdy kind. Energetic. Jon’s heart raced and pulsed with it, making him feel right at home. The feeling lasted even after he made his leisurely way to his chamber. The music and laughter could be heard even in the hallways, and Jon smiled. He was happy. Free from his father, starting over in the brightest of places, and with the best of men, the beautiful prince who would make a great king someday. He still couldn't believe his luck. His smile didn't dissipate even when he laid down in his bed. Sleep found him in a kind of stupor, brought on by a little wine, a lot of music and a lot of Rhaegar. The last one being the most intoxicating of all. The days passed. Still no Rhaegar. Jon was keeping busy, talking with lords from the Stormlands, who then proceeded to introduce him to their friends. It was easy, fitting in, talking with men so much like himself in so many ways. _And different in some significant ones._ In his youthful ignorance, (or was it vanity?) Jon had thought there weren't many men who shared his deviance. As it turned out, in a true city full of people, there were many such men. Jon heard the whispers about this lord and that, or a lady complaining about catching her servant in an act which nearly made her faint. When he had heard that woman speak of it, he couldn't help but think about Rhaegar’s bride. _What would she make of her husband taking a man for his lover?_ He didn't know and tried not to care. He probably wouldn't be forced to spend time with her. _Rhaegar’s princess. The woman who will bear his children._ He tried not to care about that either. She wasn't going to find out that he was more than a friend to her husband. To her, the young Lord Connington would be just another courtier. To Jon, she was the woman who was soon to have everything he wanted: Rhaegar. It wasn't even about the fact that Rhaegar would need to visit her bed every now and then. No, that wasn’t all of it. The simple fact that she could be by his side whenever she chose, that she would be seated next to him at feasts and every damn occasion, and that she would be his family. The mother of his children. Jon knew the prince enough to understand what that would mean. _He will love her for it. It won't make him fall in love with her, but he will love her in his own way._ They would share a bond Rhaegar would only have with her. To distract himself from picturing how it was going to be, Jon walked the busier parts of the Red Keep, in pursuit of anything else to think about. It didn't take long to find a small group of men who welcomed his conversation. It was idle talk, but it drowned out a portion of his thoughts. A feat for which he was very grateful. It was all well and good, until the young men, minor lordlings and squires, suggested they all head out to visit the women of the night. _Whores. They want to find brothels to whore in._ Jon didn't let any ire slip into his refusal. A mean little thought crept in after that. _If Rhaegar continues being distant, I might just go and visit one of those brothels. Alone._ He had overheard which ones catered to his tastes. The answer was that many of those establishments did, if not most. He was in the capital now, and a man grown. He could tend to his perversions the way everyone else did. Life in the city seemed to be made for that anyway. So many places and so many people. One could disappear in the crowd and be utterly unseen. It was a place where a young person could discover everything about himself without suffering the consequences. Still, if Rhaegar hadn't changed his mind, he wouldn't go off searching. Why search for something inevitably disappointing when what you really want could still come to you? So Jon kept up the life of a courtier, thinking of Rhaegar all the while. At least he was invited to break his fast with the royal family. Because so many nobles had come to celebrate their prince’s return, the three Targaryens held court even at their table. Jon was invited by Rhaegar. He had been thrilled for a brief second, before he found out that the prince had invited a gaggle of young lordlings. _That_ cheapened the gesture considerably.

“I do hope your bride isn't bringing an invasion of Dornishmen with her,” Aerys said.

“Father,” Rhaegar began.

Jon wondered if he was the only one who heard the strain behind the lovely and patient tone. It took great effort on Rhaegar’s part not to argue with his father the King. Jon could emphasize with that, with hatred of one’s father. _But Rhaegar’s father is the king._ Fighting with him, hating him the way children sometimes hate their fathers, was treason.

“What? It's an infestation already. Damn Mariah Martell for bringing so many of those people to court, and damn Daeron for not controlling his woman better.”

Queen Rhaella cleared her throat and looked down at her plate. She looked miserable. _That woman never eats,_ observed Jon. While Rhaella was still beautiful with her silver hair and purple eyes, it wasn't what one spotted when looking at her. For all that beauty and grace, she was the saddest woman Jon had ever known. He wanted to stop this. It wasn't right, the way Aerys was making his family feel. His sister-wife and their son. The people who should have been precious to him, but weren't. If anything, he was worse with them than he was with others.

“Princess Elia will surely not bring a greater entourage than it befits her station, Your Grace,” Jon said, hoping to appease the king into leaving his family be.

“Yes,” Aerys said, practically grunting the word.

The tension wasn't gone, but soon the conversation drifted to less treacherous ground. Rhaegar gave Jon a grateful smile. Jon gave him a grin he hoped was a little conspiratorial and amused, but his heart was not in it. _It's not your gratitude I want._ After the unfortunate meal, Connington was mercifully left to his own devices. While the little Prince Viserys hadn't been at table, he _was_ in the gardens when Jon walked them. He and an army of nurses and maesters circling him. Each wanting to tell the king it was he who took the best care of his young second son, no doubt, and that it was he who had a strong bond with the younger prince of the realm. Everyone knew the queen had trouble birthing living children, so it was considered miraculous the boy hadn't perished in the days after his birth. That had happened to Queen Rhaella too; even when her babes lived, they didn't  last long. People thought Rhaegar would be her only child to live past infancy. Viserys was nearing three, and, though he was pale and small for his age, he seemed healthy enough. Rhaegar soon appeared, coming after the little prince and his keepers.

“There you are,” Rhaegar said as he crouched to look at the child’s face. “Mother misses you, little brother.”

Then he looked at Jon as if he had only spotted him then. Maybe he was pretending not to have noticed him for the sake of the caretakers. Or maybe he truly hadn't spied his lover standing a couple feet away. Troubling thing was, Jon couldn't tell which was the truth.

“My prince,” Jon managed to say, bowing his head slightly.

“Lord Connington,” Rhaegar said. His tone was cold by there was mischief in his eyes, and so the world was right once again. To his brother’s entourage, he said, “my mother the queen requests that her son be taken to her chambers at once.”

The group went very still and quiet.

“My prince, I beg your forgiveness, but the King…” said a maester, trailing off. He was unable to say whatever he had meant to, for fear of offending his future king. _No wonder. The maesters are all spineless, in spite of wearing such heavy chains._

“Your father the king ordered us not to take the little one to your mother at all, Your Grace,” a nurse finally said.

“And now I'm ordering you to take him to your queen,” Rhaegar said.

All of them looked supremely ashamed. Rhaegar smiled to himself and added, “you won't have to face the King’s wrath. I shall take full responsibility for this.”

That was enough, apparently. They left and promised to take Viserys to his mother. As soon as they were gone, Rhaegar crumbled. His shoulders slumped as he sat down on the stone bench close by. With a deep sigh, he turned to Jon.

“I won't have to do this eternally, will I? Is being a delegator between my father and mother my curse?”

He said it with humor and a wry smile, but the sadness in his eyes spoke the fear that this would indeed be his life forever.

“Not eternally. Look at the bright side. Someday, you will die.”

Rhaegar laughed. “What a comforting thought.”

That made Jon’s heart ache. “It shouldn't be. You are a gifted, honorable knight and a good-hearted prince. The world should be laid down at your feet. This isn't going to last forever.”

“No, it won't. As you've so astutely put it, I will die one day. Valar Morghulis.”

“Is that Valyrian?” Jon asked.

“An ancient and wise truth. It means all men need to die.”

“You won't spend your whole life this way. You will be king. No one will be in the way of your happiness then.”

Rhaegar smiled his sad smile. “If only it were so simple.”

Jon sat down next to him, the stone cool to the touch, even through the fabric of his clothing.

“I've missed you,” Jon said, trying hard not to mean it as an accusation.

“And I you,” Rhaegar said.

Jon’s heart swelled with it. _He missed me too._

“You've duties to attend to. I understand. It can't be like it was at my home, when you were a guest with no court politics, queenly mothers and kingly fathers to attend to.”

“No it can't be like it was there. I wish it could, though.”

Jon’s heart swelled once more. _He was happy while he was in my lands._

“We can go back when you are free to travel, if you'd like,” said Jon.

“I want to feel what I felt when I was in that castle, alone with you. Make me feel the same as then. Please.”

They both stood and Rhaegar touched his hand to Jon’s. Only for a second, since they could not be seen doing that. A woman could hold another woman’s hand. A man couldn't hold the hand of another man without raising suspicion.

“As you wish,” said Jon, his youthful joy returned to him. Rhaegar still wanted him. His new world hadn't ended when it had just barely begun.


	11. Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> This chapter is a political one. I feel like a lot of cool court intrigue had been going on at that time in King's Landing.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING - Jon has a very bad attitude (internally, at least) towards Varys because he is a eunuch. This is in A Dance With Dragons, in which he thinks "what does a eunuch know of a man's honor?".  
> It didn't feel great to write those thoughts for Jon, but canon rears its ugly head sometimes.  
> We love GRRM's characters precisely because they're super flawed, in the most human ways possible.

Jon hadn’t wanted to go to the king’s address that day. He would rather have spent the morning in his bed with Rhaegar. But Rhaegar was to be by his father’s side, and so Jon watched from the dais.

“The king looks displeased this fine morning,” someone said in a strange voice.

The speaker was clearly addressing Jon. Whoever it was, he was standing very close behind him. Then the man moved to stand beside him and he understood why he had sounded _wrong_ . It was the eunuch. _The Spider._ Jon had heard that moniker before, always shrouded in mystery, ever in fearful whispers. Frankly, he was disappointed. _This is who all these noblemen fear? A man who’s not a man at all?_ The eunuch was young and thin like a woman. Many no doubt would have thought him a woman, if not for his bald head. To make matters worse, the Spider wore silk. A tunic so fine it was all but made for some spice lord’s daughter across the sea in Essos.

“He seems to be in acceptable spirits,” commented Jon.

“You’ll learn the telltale signs soon enough,” said the eunuch. He sounded bitter and a little tired.

He couldn’t have been at court long, but apparently he wasn’t suited for it. A weak constitution didn't bode well for life among dragons and lions.

“If the king is not pleased, surely it is with good cause,” Jon said carefully. It was thin ice, talking about a king and his pleasure. Especially when said king had a temper on him.

“You think so? Hm,” the eunuch said, humming away the end of his question. To make it sound like it did not matter, Jon guessed. It did matter. _Questioning if the king is right to have a certain mind about something comes very nigh to treason._ Jon did not care for such talk. He wanted to keep his head, as long as he was able.

“Don’t you? Lord - “ said Jon.

Realizing he couldn’t very well call the man _Lord Spider,_ Jon stopped talking.

 “Varys. Not a lord. Merely a servant who is concerned with how his host fares.”

 “Host?”

 “This beautiful land. Westeros. Your home has been very kind to me. I intend to return the favor.”

 “Yes. His Majesty has been generous in welcoming you to court,” Jon said, his voice cold.

 He did not care for the games of those who could only feel powerful by worming their way near those who actually wielded power.

 “Oh, yes. The king is a generous man. But it wasn't he who accepted me into this court.”

 “Not the prince, surely?” Jon asked.

 Rhaegar wouldn't bother with someone like the Spider. Would he?

 “You forgot one last Targaryen capable of making choices, my lord,” said Varys.

 “Queen Rhaella.”

 “Indeed. Our good queen has been gracious enough to allow me to stay at court.”

 That made more sense. Women liked children and other things which could not fend for themselves.

 “Why?”

 “Who knows why good people do good deeds. She must have felt for me after hearing the tale of my woeful youth,” said Varys.

 “How does a queen come to hear about the life of an Essosi with no connections?”

 “People who suffer prefer to hear stories filled with strife. Makes them feel less alone, I imagine.”

 That was not an answer. Jon readjusted what he thought of the Spider. _He is someone able to charm a queen into giving him shelter and access to the royal court._ Such a man was one who got whatever he wanted. Jon decided it would be best to find out what that was.

 “Why should the queen be suffering?” said Jon.

 “Ah. He hasn't told you, to spare you from having to know. How kind of him,” mused Varys.

 “Who do you mean?” Jon said, irritation creeping into his voice.

 “Why, the prince of course,” replied Varys in a saccharine tone.

 “Why are you talking to me about the king’s family?”

 “Because a _friend_ of a prince can rise very high.”

 The eunuch said the word _friend_ as if it meant something else entirely.

 “I don't know what you mean,” Jon said through his teeth.

 “That's a pity, my lord. It truly is. A ruler needs special friends. Men and women who would do anything for them. I thought you might prove to be such. But if I'm mistaken - ”

 Jon had heard enough. He cut the Spider off before he switched from _friend_ to an entirely more damning word.

 “The king must surely have enough friends. Lord Tywin was - ”

 The eunuch raised a hand Jon was quite confident had been powdered before the king’s address.

 “Prince Rhaegar is the ruler who needs true friends,” said Varys.

 “He's not the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms,” Jon said wearily.

 “He is the eldest son of a king. Summer comes after winter, and so the crown passes from one head to another. It's only a matter of time.”

 Jon had thought he understood what the conversation was about. Apparently, they weren't having that conversation anymore. Instead, the Spider had, unwittingly or not, steered them towards even murkier water. Jon doubted the eunuch did anything unwittingly. Trying to think on how to regain solid ground, he decided to return the prying.

 “It was the king who invited you, was it not? Seems rather strange for you to be so concerned with your gracious host’s son.”

 “It was the king who called me to Westeros, it’s true. He was also the one who sent me away the day I arrived at court. Didn't expect a eunuch to be so unlike a man, he said. Not to me, of course. A king would not be as crude as all that. But why would a simple Essosi be clever enough to understand Westerosi speech spoken quickly under a breath of laughter? The king is not to blame. He merely said it to the lord by his side. I don't know the name, though I'd recognize him. I never forget a face.”

 Jon subtly glanced around them. It would do him no favors if someone overheard him so much as listen to any critics of the king. _What does the eunuch think he's playing at?_ It did no good for a man to plot against his benefactor. For one thing, he would never have a helping hand again. For another, kings didn't take kindly to betrayal. _No one can abide betrayal and keep a crown._

 “So how is it the queen took pity on you, as you've said?” said Jon, trying to take control of the discussion.

 “The king told me to go back to the strange Essosi people and their stranger customs and gods. It was Queen Rhaella who convinced him to keep me here. He agreed. What harm could a foreign curiosity cause, after all?” said the Spider, with the innocence of his namesakes.

  _What harm? A great deal,_ thought Jon.

 “What does any of that have to do with the prince?”

 “Prince Rhaegar. A good man. He will make a fine king one day, wouldn't you say?”

 “And you, a newcomer, and a foreigner at that, care what kind of king he’ll be because - ?” asked Jon, working hard to keep his voice quiet.

 No eyes were on them, but that could easily change.

 “I care about the people. Someone must be mindful of what's right for them too. The world isn't just lord's and kings, you know.”

 Jon thought he understood. “And Rhaegar is what's right for the people?”

 “Possibly,” Varys said.

 “And if not?”

 “These things have a way of working themselves out. A stream will find a way though a mountain, though the mountain might get cracks in its foundation for it.”

 Jon could not believe it, felt as though in a bizarre dream. He knew all courts were made of manipulation and lies. Hadn't cared, because what was the cost of putting up with a little deceit, in exchange for being with Rhaegar? It was more than worth it. _Anything would be worth it._ Jon had expected courtly intrigue. What he hadn't expected was being told that the king should hurry up and die already, so Rhaegar could rule.

 “I haven't answered your question before. Yes. I am a loyal friend of the prince,” Jon said.

 “I hope so, my lord. For his sake, and the realm’s.”

 The Spider made to walk away.

 “Wait,” said Jon. There was one more thing nagging at him about the conversation.

 “Yes?”

 “What you said about Queen Rhaella. What did you mean by it?”

 Varys gave him a contemplative, almost sad look.

 “Ask the prince.”

 Jon would. He had other business first. As the king was about to leave the throne room after his address, Jon approached him. Rhaegar was gone already.

 “Your Grace,” he said, bowing low.

 “Yes?” said the king. The address had strained his nerves, so the word was a condescending sound, made that way through annoyance. Jon tried to ignore it.

 “There's something you should know about Varys the eunuch,” Jon said.

 


	12. Pawns and Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar POV.  
> This chapter takes place right after the last one I've uploaded.  
> Thank you for reading, everyone!  
> Sorry I haven't been updating regularly. I've been busy but I'm not abandoning the story.  
> I love writing Jon and Rhaegar and the other characters and that you guys are reading my work!

“Why did you tell him?” Rhaegar asked Jon.

It was still night. After a brief discussion of Varys’ motives, Jon had helped the prince with the paperwork. After that, they had fallen into bed together. Since he had come back to court, the times in bed with Jon were the only uncomplicated, good moments he had. Nearly everything else was cumbersome. Rhaegar had been afraid of the capital corrupting the ease of what he and Jon had. It hadn't.  _ Not yet, anyway.  _

“Hm?” Jon murmured in response. It was always like that.  _ He likes to tune his mind out in these brief fragments of peace.  _

“Why did you go to my father about Varys?” 

“Oh, that,” Jon said as he sat up in the bed. 

“You said Varys implied I'd make a better king. I don't see why you'd go to him and not to me.”

Jon looked at him. There was passion and warmth in that gaze. No one else would ever look at him quite like that, Rhaegar knew. Not if he lived a thousand lives. 

“I went to the king so you wouldn't have to choose. If I told you, that would have been the same as forcing you to decide between the eunuch’s plot against your father and loyalty to your sire.”

Rhaegar sat up from his position of lying on his side and resting his head in his palm. 

“You don't think I should plot against my kingly father. Why, because he is such an excellent king?”

Jon touched his hand to the prince’s face. It was more reassuring than any words. 

“It should be your choice, not the Spider’s. If you want to take the throne from your father, do it when you're ready. When you have the support you'd need,” said Jon.

“And if I don't ever want to overthrow him?”

“Then he'll be king as long as he lives.”

Rhaegar frowned. “I'm not certain that is in the best interest of the realm.”

“Do whatever you will. Take his crown, or don't,” said Jon while he put his hand on Rhaegar’s shoulder. It was a comforting gesture that never failed to settle him.  _ My head is clear when I'm with him,  _ mused the prince. With the way his mind was usually a clutter of some terrible abyss, having Jon soothe that relentless entropy was true bliss. Bliss couldn't last forever. Jon was his confidante, the one he allowed to share his deepest thoughts. That was part joy, but it also meant that there were times when they had to speak of unpleasant things. Such as whether treason was the only viable solution to a problem that seemed to grow worse with time. 

“I don't know that I have a choice,” said Rhaegar. “The people need someone to save them from my father. If not me, then who? It's my duty to see to the needs of my kingdom.”

“You don't owe them anything. You know that, don't you?”

For a second, Rhaegar thought that might have been a jape. Looking at Jon’s expression told him otherwise. 

“I'm their prince, Jon. They're my future subjects. I am meant to protect them. That is what I owe them.”

Jon did not seem convinced. “What have they ever done for you? What have any of the lords, for that matter? Everyone is looking out for himself. You might think you have to be their hero, but know that none of them would have your back.”

“No one at all?” Rhaegar asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is it really as bleak as all that?”

“No. You have me until the end of my days.”

Rhaegar smiled. “So one. I have one lord’s heir on my side.”

“You have Arthur as well. After your wedding, you'll have Dorne.”

“My father chose Dorne precisely because, as lovely as that kingdom is, they don't have the numbers or the resources to be any use to me against the six other kingdoms united.”

Jon got an even more serious look on his face. 

“If you really are going after the king, you will have to play the lords against your father. It shouldn't be too difficult. Many resent and fear him already. The people had thought he would make a great king. It looked that way, but now the whole world knows that notion did not take. As promising as his early reign had been, your father is unpredictable. If anything is bad for business, it's unpredictability. I mean the business of the bakers and the barkeeps, but also that of running the kingdom. It's a job that needs steadier hands. The lords understand that. They'd follow, if you would lead them.”

Rhaegar looked out the window into a starless night. “Perhaps. But would I be leading them to victory or to their last breaths?”

“Only time could answer that,” Jon said with a sigh of sympathy.


	13. A Singer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone : )   
> Sorry for the long wait. School has been keeping me busy.   
> This is a short chapter but since I'm going on break next week, I will upload Part 2 very soon.   
> Thank you for reading and commenting! You guys make my day each time I receive a new comment or kudo.

A knock on his door woke Jon in the middle of the night. He opened his eyes and sat up in his bed. The moonlight was enough that he could see the furnishings, which were all well made but not fanciful. He could also see the torchlight coming in from beneath the door, a flicker of the ever breathing castle. There wasn't an hour at the Red Keep that wouldn't find a person in its halls. Like the one who stood in front of his door now. The light from the torches faded. Whoever was waiting there for him had a robe on, most like. It was the hour for it, and the floor-length material blocked a great portion of the door. Climbing out of bed with a groan of annoyance, Jon went to discover who had come to see him. He knew it was not Rhaegar. The prince wouldn't have knocked. No, if his prince had come to him, he would have walked in and woken Jon with a kiss. He opened the door. 

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I didn't know who else to turn to,” said Princess Elia.

She was alone, wearing a robe like he thought and a white nightgown underneath it. Her hair was loosely falling on her shoulders. During the days at court, she did wear her down sometimes, but there was always at least one braid in it. There wasn't now. 

“Princess, what's the matter?” 

Princess Elia’s face became even more serious than it was before. “Remember the singer from earlier today?”

Jon wished he could not. “Of course I do. What of him?”

Elia looked around the hall. “You know what his punishment will be. What the king decided it had to be,” she said.

“Yes.”

A deep breath. “I can't let that happen,” Elia said. 

“So you want to speak with the king of this?”

Elia frowned. There was a determination in her eyes that unnerved Jon. She was planning something, had set her mind to it. There was no steering her off course. 

“No, Jon,” she said. “I’m not going to speak to my father-by-law about it. You were there. He was the one who -“ 

Jon cut her words off. “I know what he has done.”

“Then you know the singer remaining in the dungeons won’t come to any good,” Elia said. 

“He will die,” admitted Jon. 

“Succumb to his injuries, yes,” the princess said. “He played the flute as well, not just sang. That’s why it was his hands they ruined. The way the injury looked…” she said, trailing off. “There will be an infection and it will be the death of him.”

Jon loosed a breath. He didn’t know what Elia was trying to tell him. What happened was unfortunate, but he didn’t see what she could possibly mean to do about it. Why she would turn to him, he could fathom even less. 

“There’s nothing you or I can do to change that,” said Jon.

“Yes, there is,” Elia told him. There was a challenge in her brown eyes. 

“And what is that, Your Grace?” 

Jon knew he ought to have been annoyed at being disturbed over something they could not alter. Instead, he was more curious than anything else.

“We can free him,” Elia said. 

Jon decided the pressures of being at court must have strained her mind and she had snapped. 

“It's not possible,” he said. 

“It is,” Elia replied. “I have a plan.”

“Are you going to make me privy to this plan?” 

Elia smiled. “Only if you agree to help me.”

Jon sighed, cursing his luck. He thought he must have been the only person in the world whose lover’s wife came to him for aid in breaking moronic artists from dungeons. 

“Are we going or not?” Jon said. 


	14. Dungeons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Here's the scene after the last chapter.  
> After the storyline about the singer, we will go back to the future to the time when Jon is attempting to put Aegon on the throne.  
> We will also be going to a certain tourney...  
> Thanks for reading!

“Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?” Jon asked her.

“We have to. If no one else will do the right thing, then we must take the task upon ourselves. Even at our own peril,” Elia said. “Not that I expect us to find too much danger.”

Jon watched her as they walked the dim halls. As small as she was, Elia had a brisk and powerful walk right then. Her face was determined.

“You shouldn’t seek out danger, Princess. Think of your daughter.”

Little Rhaenys. Daughter of Elia and Rhaegar. How upset Jon had been when he first knew the princess was with child! Then the babe was born. She looked nothing like her father, but Rhaegar doted on the little child as if she were the most wondrous creature in all the world. Jon couldn’t help but grow to love the child after that. He didn’t have it in him not to adore something that made his silver prince so utterly joyful. It was nigh only with Rhaenys that Rhaegar’s happiness was untainted.

“Rhaenys is sleeping in Rhaegar’s bed,” Elia said. “If she isn’t safe in the crown prince’s bed, there’s no place where she would be.”

There was nothing Jon could say to that.

*******

Elia’s plan was rather simple.

“You talk to the guards and I sneak in,” Elia said.

“It will never work,” Jon insisted.

“Do you not trust my judgement, my lord?”

He did. There was nothing about the princess to suggest carelessness or a lack of intellect. Still, she underestimated how perilous her situation truly was. That did not surprise Jon. She grew up a princess, and in Dorne at that. The Dornish were far more lax than the rest of the kingdoms. Still, they valued their rulers. In their minds, House Martell had saved them all those years before from the invading Targaryens. They adored them for it. So all Elia had ever known was worshippers at her feet. For all that, Jon had to admit she wasn’t conceited. Proud and regal, yes, but not overly so. However, Aerys was a problem for which her upbringing left her chiefly defenseless. Jon thought she could not comprehend the magnitude of the king’s distaste for her. He would have to warn her about that, he decided. First, they had to get through the ordeal of a rescue mission.

***

Jon made conversation with the guards as Elia had instructed. He told them the prince got it in his mind to know who exactly was in that corner of the dungeons. The guards didn’t question why the prince would send his companion down here in the middle of the night. Everyone in the Red Keep knew about his mood which oftentimes kept him awake ‘till the lackluster hues of dawn. Jon was still making idle conversation with the guards when he saw Elia. She was walking towards them, from the direction of the cells. Worse, she was not alone. The singer was standing besides her.

“Your Grace,” one of the guards said to Elia. “What brings you here, my lady?”

Elia looked stern yet nonchalant. An air only someone born to power and riches could affect.

“I’m here to retrieve this prisoner,” Elia said.

“Terribly sorry, my lady, but I don’t know if Your Highness has the authority - ”

“I am the crown princess and future queen consort of Westeros. I have every authority.”

“But Princess - ”

Elia did not allow the fool to go on. “Take it up with your captain, if you must,” she said. “Of course, then you would have to explain why you had company.”

At the last word, she looked at Jon for emphasis.

“Right, you must be tired at this hour, Your Grace,” the guard said. “Best get on with delivering the prisoner, um - wherever Your Highness means to take him.”

The guard stepped aside. Elia and the singer started to walk up the stairs.

“I should accompany the princess, to ensure that filth gives her no trouble,” Jon said.

“I - erm, all right. It was good to have a chance to speak again, my lord,” the guard said to him.

It was clear he meant to say more, so Elia and the singer stopped walking. Both looked concerned.

Jon tried to hide his surprise. “We’ve spoken before?”

The guard looked slightly abashed. “Yes. There was a celebration. The guards who weren’t on duty were permitted to attend.”

“Ah,” Jon managed. “Yes, I remember. It was the king’s nameday, if I recall. Or was it the queen’s? Regardless, we should leave. I bid you good night, ser.”

Without saying anything more, Jon followed Elia and the singer.

***

When the three of them had made it up the stairs, Jon exhaled.

“Why did you do that?” he asked Elia. “That was not our agreement. You changed the plan.”

“Because I knew he would be caught off guard. That’s why I asked you to accompany me. I hoped having you there would throw him off kilter,” she said.

Jon didn’t comprehend. “Why would my being there have such an effect on him?”

Elia gave him a slim, apologetic smile. “He took notice of you quite a while back. The two of you have more in common than you know, Lord Connington.”

He understood then. Elia had brought him because that guard wanted him.

“I apologize for misleading you, but it’s all right. We’re safe. The risk has passed.”

 

The king’s men caught up with them when they returned to the royal sleeping quarters.


	15. In the king’s chambers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> Sorry I haven’t been updating regularly. 
> 
> I still haven’t abandoned this story. I’ve just been super busy. 
> 
> Anyways, here’s the next scene.  
> Thanks for the patience! 
> 
> Hopefully I’m going to be able to update again soon.
> 
> I have plot ideas for this story that should be fun. If only I had the time to get to them more quickly. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The guards didn’t drag them to the king’s chambers. They allowed them the dignity of walking without being pushed and shoved, though the guards did keep their hands on the hilt of their swords. It took a long time for the king to arrive. Aerys was woken from sleep for this, and he looked it. The worrying part wasn’t his unruly hair, or the fact he was wearing robes clearly meant for the bedchamber.  
“What is the meaning of this?” Aerys said. Jon could not recall the last time the king sounded so agitated. That was disconcerting because if Aerys was anything, he was easily excitable.  
“Your Grace, I can explain-” Jon began.  
“No. I can,” Elia said. “It was all m-”  
“My fault,” said a silver voice Jon would have recognized in death.  
Jon hadn’t heard Rhaegar enter his father’s chambers, but here he was, as if by magic, manifested from shadow or smoke. Had Elia ordered one of the guards to fetch him? That wouldn’t have surprised Jon. Foresight was something of an area of strength for the Dornish princess, it seemed.  
“You’re responsible for the actions of these-” Aerys began.  
Rhaegar cut him off before Jon found out just what insult the king could possibly have for both him and Elia. “They set the singer free, it’s true. On my orders.”  
The king looked at his son quizzically. “Why?”  
Rhaegar gave his father a wry smile. “You know me. I just can’t help myself when music is involved.”  
From the king’s expression on his face, it was clear he did not believe a word the prince was saying. “Not even you can can be that soft-headed, boy.”  
“Regardless, it’s my fault the prisoner is gone. If you want to punish anyone, it must be me. Not Princess Elia, and not Lord Jon,” said Rhaegar.  
Aerys observed his son with such hatred Jon feared the outcome of this fight between the lord of the Seven Kingdoms and his heir. And it was all because of some worthless singer. The thought filled Jon’s heart with shame. By agreeing to Elia’s plan, he put Rhaegar in a difficult situation. Any lord’s anger towards his children was something to fear. If that lord was in fact the king, and not the most stable man, things quickly grew perilous. If Rhaegar had to face any true consequences, Jon would never forgive himself. 


	16. Leaving for Dragonstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Connington POV. The aftermath and consequences of angering a mad king. 
> 
> Hey guys! Sorry for not posting for such a long time. I got really busy, but I didn’t abandon the story. Hope you guys keep reading. I’ll add more chapters. Hopefully I can get a few in before school starts again. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Rhaegar had won. Aerys knew it too, and looked purple with rage. There was no way he could punish the crown prince for something so trivial. Jon and Elia knew it, from what the young lord of Griffin’s Roost could tell. Elia stood tall, despite the situation. She was calm in a crisis, Jon had to give her that. She would make an excellent queen. Though he begrudged her all of it, it was an unyielding truth. The next Targaryen queen wouldn’t be a Targaryen at all, and she would surpass most of her predecessors. Not the warrior queens Visenya and Rhaenys, but the ones who played smaller roles in the fate of their realm.  
Rhaegar’s own mother, though a good and bright woman, had little to do with the politics of Westeros. _Elia will not suffer being pushed aside like that._ After Doran, she had been in line to inherit Dorne. _Elia might have been a ruling Princess of Dorne, nearly equal to Robert Baratheon and Rickard Stark._ A full equal, were Dorne a kingdom of greater power. _They are powerful,_ a stubborn voice inside him reminded Jon. He cursed his maester for teaching him history so well. _Dorne is no place to sneeze at,_ the voice that sounded suspiciously like his old maester insisted. _They were the only ones to ward off the dragonlords._ No wonder Elia had so much pride stuffed inside that tiny frame of hers.  
Though both Elia and Queen Rhaella were born princesses, they shared little in terms of fate and fortune. Rhaella had no family to be on her side the way Elia did. The man who hurt the queen was nearly all that remained of their dynasty, besides her and their two sons. _A sad fate,_ Jon thought. He himself was an only child, but he was certain that was better than having a brother like Aerys. Jon sat alone in bed, wondering how everything had gone so wrong without any real cause for concern. Nothing had changed. Rhaegar might have taken the blame for them, but he wasn’t a child. It wasn’t as though his father could beat him.  
Jon slept through the day, not caring about any previous engagements. Trying to push away his sense of foreboding only half worked. That evening, Rhaegar came to him.  
“I’m sorry,” Jon began. “If I had known what her plan would-”  
Rhaegar ended the apology by kissing him. It wasn’t a sweet kiss. There was a certain way Rhaegar kissed him when he was happy-well, less sad than he usually was, anyway-that was tranquil and leisurely. The kind meant for summer afternoons on the riverbank. This night, the kiss Rhaegar planted on his lips was rough and firm. Demanding. He is angry, Jon thought. His breeches tightened at the thought of how the prince wanted to make use of that anger.  
Rhaegar janked down Jon’s breeches. Jon fumbled at untying Rhaegar’s, so he pushed away the other boy’s hands and did it himself. He pushed the young griffin down onto the bed. Lying on his back with Rhaegar above him, he couldn’t have dreamed of anything he’d want this much, anything that would bring him more pleasure. Then Rhaegar put his fingers in his own mouth and moved his hands down to his cock, without touching Jon. That broke the spell, though only a little. It wasn’t as though Jon could imagine ever saying no to this. _How would a man put a stop to the one thing he desires above anything else?_  
Spit-slick fingers worked Jon open. Rhaegar’s fingers weren’t like anyone else’s, Jon was convinced. It had to be the harp that made his hands more nimble, more in tune with whatever instrument was under his fingertips.  
More and more of those fingers, quicker than usual. Oftentimes, Rhaegar took it slow. True, there were times he liked it fast and ungentle, but this anger was never there before. It was exhilarating, but somehow melancholy. Had Rhaegar’s affection dwindled? Was that the cause of the change? Perhaps it was only momentary anger. The result of Jon’s own stupidity for letting the Dornishwoman drag him into her plan.  
The fingers curved, making him pant. A finger hooked just the right way and Jon moaned. Rhaegar took this as indication he could proceed further. He removed the fingers with more care than he had done anything else that night.  
Without saying anything, Rhaegar pushed inside. The tide of their movements were fast and relentless, like a stormy sea. Afterwards, Rhaegar stood from the bed. That too, was faster than usual.  
“I’ve been thinking,” Rhaegar said.  
Jon chuckled. “Did I bore you so terribly?”  
Rhaegar did not smile. “It’s something that’s been gnawing at me for a while now. This incident with my father, having to protect the two of you-”  
Jon cut him off. “I know that must have been distressing. Rhaegar, I am sorry. It will not happen again.”  
Rhaegar sighed. “No, I expect it won’t.” Just as Jon could finally breathe easy, Rhaegar said,” Because we are leaving King’s Landing.”  
“All right,” Jon said.  
He would not deny enjoying the opportunities the king’s court offered. For all that, he would go with Rhaegar. If Rhaegar were a beggar, he would join him in the streets. Lie and steal and murder, as long it was what needed to be done for Rhaegar. Nevertheless, Jon would have preferred to stay.  
“It must be done, you understand. I don’t particularly want to go back to Dragonstone.”  
Rhaegar looked miserable even in the faint moonlight.  
“When are we going?” Jon asked.  
Rhaegar blinked at him. “I thought you understood. Elia and I… we are leaving. I think it’s best that you don’t come with us.”  
“Why? It’s because she angered your father, isn’t it?”  
Anger and shock mingled, making his breathing shallow.  
“It’s not that. Not truly. Elia and I did all that we could to make Dragonstone our home. The one thing we haven’t tried is living there. She needs a household of her own. I won’t have my family near my father.”  
Jon understood. Elia and Aerys did not mix well. Oil and water, and all those opposites where one could break your neck and one was lively and good. What he didn’t understand was why he had to stay behind.  
“Can’t I be part of your court at Dragonstone? With you gone, I have no place here.” _And no reason to stay._  
“You should go home. If I took you to Dragonstone the moment I left… people already talk. It would be better if you went to your father’s castle. Gotten married, perhaps,” Rhaegar said.  
Jon said nothing. _I won’t marry, not anyone._ Court would be unbearable without Rhaegar, though. _I will have to go home._ Jon Connington thought he might never again have to live under the roofs of his childhood. Foolishly, perhaps, he had thought he might spend all his days at court, by Rhaegar’s side. Apparently, the prince had other plans.

 


	17. Storm's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While spending time in his native Stormlands, Jon Connington meets someone important.

Homecoming wasn’t like in the songs. His father did not cry, not that Jon would have expected it from him. Seven hells, he probably would have called for a maester. The lack of joy expressed by Armond Connington was not the issue. Jon was not home three days when he grew tired of his father’s disappointment. How was it that Jon spent so much time at court without having a bride to show for it? To his father, the best Jon could have made of King’s Landing was a bride from one of the most prominent noble houses. Someone a little too far above their own house. All things considered, it wasn’t such an absurd wish. Nevertheless, it reminded Jon of precisely what had gone wrong. 

“I think I shall visit Storm’s End,” Jon told his father. 

“There’s a thought,” his lord father said, sounding genuinely pleased. “It’s been a long while since you last saw Robert.”

Jon did not wish to see Lord Robert Baratheon, but his desire to get away was stronger. 

And so Jon made the short journey from Griffin’s Roost to Storm’s End. 

With Robert as its lord, Storm’s End had a feast near each night. Not a proper feast, of course. No lord had coin enough for that, save perhaps for Lord Tyrell. The mood was more like at a tavern than at one of the grandest castles in the Seven Kingdoms. More ale and wine was drunk than food was eaten, but none complained.  _ They wouldn’t,  _ thought Jon.  _ Not when the only reason they’re here is to curry favor with the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.  _

“Back from King’s Landing, are ye?” Robert asked Jon when they had a chance to talk. “Good for you,” Robert said while taking a swig of his ale. “Always hated that shithole.”

Just then, Jon was inclined to agree. Perhaps it would be better if he eventually joined Rhaegar at Dragonstone than either of them, or Elia, going back to court. 

“The city is an acquired taste,” Jon said mildly. 

“And it tastes like the boots of Aerys more and more these days,” said Robert. 

After so long at court, Jon instinctively looked about, searching for the paranoid king or any number of his lickspittles. But of course, this was Storm’s End. Robert’s domain, where his people treated him like king. Jon wondered if all lords high enough in importance received such treatment. He contemplated how it would be to be lord of the Roost and decided _ that  _ was not an acquired taste.  _ Any man would be fortunate to be lord of such a castle and rule such lands.  _

After some days, there was great fuss about some new arrival. When Jon watched the sea from a cliff that day, Robert and his new guest chanced upon him. He had come up here to avoid conversation, but there was no avoiding Robert and whatever woman he had on his arm. Indeed, Robert approached arm-in-arm with a lithe wisp of a woman. She was short and skinny. It was easy to see that, even though she wore a loose fitting gown. 

“Jon!” Robert shouted, jovial as ever. “Have you had the good fortune of meeting this lovely young lady?” 

“No, my lord. I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure,” Jon replied. 

Robert gave him a wicked smile. “Pleasure? No man but I shall have that. This is my betrothed, Lyanna of House Stark, daughter of Lord Rickard. My lady, this is Jon of House Connington, son of Lord Armond Connington.”

“Well met, my lord,” the lady said. 

Her speech was more refined than her appearance. Though she wore a loose southern dress similar to most ladies here, Lyanna Stark was clearly not comfortable in it. And she was no woman. Jon had been dead wrong about that. The girl was a child.  _ She couldn’t have seen more than twelve summers.  _

Robert decided he and his little bride would sit and talk with Jon. Her companions, obviously northerners, and one of them a septa, kept a short distance away. They could see their young charge well enough, but they didn’t interlope on the conversation.

Robert got Jon to tell the lady how wonderful the Stormlands were. Then a page came to fetch him, explaining that he was urgently needed up at the castle. 

“Will you walk Lya back, Jon? There’s no need for her to hurry back yet. You did want to get a good look at the sea. Isn’t that right, my lady?”

The girl gave him a flat look. “Stop fretting, Robert. We will manage, won’t we, Lord Jon?”

“We will somehow survive without Lord Baratheon to keep us safe, I expect,” Jon said evenly. 

Lyanna laughed. Robert gave Jon a long look verging on anger. Then he let loose his typical roaring laughter. It was a booming sound. The joy was always so unencumbered on his face it brought his youth to light.  _ He is not much older than I am _ . When he wasn’t shouting, one noticed Robert’s blue eyes and fine, high cheekbones. He was tall and carried himself well. All in all, not a hard man to look at. 

When Robert was gone, Jon turned to his bride. “You seem to know Lord Robert well, my lady.”

Lyanna sat down in the sand without fixing her dress first. Clearly, she was more used to trousers. “I met him when I went to visit my brother Ned at the Eyrie. He and Robert fostered there.” 

“So it was not Brandon who spent time at the Eyrie?” 

Jon did not know the names of each son of each noble house. Still, there was excuse not to know the name of the heir to Winterfell. 

Lyanna smiled fondly, as if at a memory. “No. Brandon could never abide leaving the North. He’s a true wolf.”

“Living up to the family sigil. Good for him. I always did want to fly like the griffins of my house, but the attempts never did quite take.” 

“I do miss my fellow wolves,” Lyanna said. “The others must miss me too. Wolves are meant to be part of a pack.”

“How long is Your Ladyship staying?” Jon asked her. 

“A few weeks, to grow accustomed to my future home.”

It was a bit unusual, though not unheard of, to have someone visit their betrothed. Eventually, they walked back. Lyanna told very amusing, and completely unladylike, stories about her brothers. Jon told her about King’s Landing. Lady Lyanna had never been to the capital.  

Robert threw a welcome feast for his bride. He was happier than Jon had ever seen him. The days went on in the usual fashion after that. Lyanna spent most days riding and swimming, while Jon had to put up with the conversation of every Stormland lord. At least that was how it felt.  As for Robert, he didn’t spend as many hours with his lady as one might expect. Still, he was happier, and slightly calmer, with her around. The change was barely noticeable, but it was there. Jon didn’t see much of Lyanna Stark, though they were seated near each other at table most nights.   

Despite Robert’s marginally less bothersome behavior, Jon eventually found himself sneaking off to be alone during one of the feasts. Wandering about, he quickly got to a wine cellar. 

The idea of leaving company behind wasn’t his alone, it seemed. A boy was throwing knives at the barrels of wine. A skinny boy, from what Jon could make out in the dim light, with his long dark hair tied back. A strange sight in a wine cellar, of all places. 

“Trying to drown the rats?” Jon asked him. 

The boy turned around and said, “I would rather be drowned than forced to live here. If I were one of those rats, that is.”

He sounded very much like a girl. Jon looked at him. The long hair, the voice, and the face. A long, solemn face, but feminine. The boy wasn’t a boy at all.  _ She’s a girl, wearing a man’s clothes.  _ The riding boots and brown trousers, as well as the grey vest, made for a convincing twelve-year-old boy. The girl was the right age, at least. Not a small child, but nowhere near a woman. She wore the Stark sigil on her chest. Jon could hardly believe his eyes.  _ Lady Lyanna.  _

“Apologies, my lady.”

The girl watched him with dark grey eyes, studying him, a serious expression on her young face. 

“It’s quite alright, Lord Jon. I’m not lady of this castle yet.”

“Your Ladyship doesn’t fancy southern feasts?” 

“In the company of the right person, yes. My issue is not with the south.”

Jon could tell she was hesitant to speak ill of anyone in front of a strange nobleman, but he saw her throw daggers at Robert’s wine. Surely she didn’t do that out of joy at being here. 

“Robert can be… challenging.”

Lyanna snorted. “He’s an arse.”

More from surprise than anything else, Jon laughed. He’d never heard a highborn lady talk that way in front of a stranger before. 


End file.
